


Six Times

by rispacooper



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cheese, First Time, Handcuffs, M/M, Romance, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Greg repeatedly tries to say, “Hey, btw, Nick I love you and I want to have your babies”, and Nick refuses to listen. Regard it as fluff. Well, as fluffy as I get. Spoilers up to and including Season Five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Times

“Come back in an hour. Thank you.” The exhaustion in the voice of the new DNA/Trace tech is what finally draws Nick further into the lab despite what the guy just said.

Well, that and the fact that it’s cooler in the Trace lab than anywhere else, it always is now, which makes it strange that the one setting the thermostat—Greg Sanders—always has on at least two shirts under his lab coat.

But it feels good after being outside, and Nick tracks the voice to the man himself and finds him leaning in a slump over the MassSpec. Sanders is all stiff, spiked hair with shaved sides and yes, Nick can see the pattern on the collar of his almost-too-bright sticking up over the white lab coat. The shirt is paisley and puts Nick in mind of feathers, male peacock feathers, on display to attract a mate.

One of Sanders’ hands grips a mug of coffee that Nick can smell from across the room, and the other is spread out in a caress on the machine that is just about holding the guy up. Nick stops to watch slender fingers stroke the housing for a moment and then clears his throat.

Sanders turns and jumps in the same startled motion and Nick’s grinning before he can think better of it. The guy’s coffee mug must be mostly empty because it doesn’t splash at all, though Sanders doesn’t seem to notice it anyway. He straightens up right away and, air-conditioned lab or not, Nick feels his cheeks burning as Sanders’ eyes work their way up and down his plain shirt and jeans before resting on his face.

His eyes are just brown, but somehow they light up right before he smiles wide. It makes Nick’s stomach tight and his blood warm.

The man—kid—who couldn’t be more than a year out of school no matter what he said or what his credentials were—has eyelashes so lush and dark that Nick sometimes wonders if the guy wears makeup. But there’s no sign of it as he smiles invitingly over at Nick and leans against the work table behind him, letting his lab coat fall back to reveal more multicolored paisley that’s been buttoned tight over a slim body yet tucked carelessly into well-worn jeans.

“Nick Stokes.” The sound of his name jerks Nick’s attention back up to the kid’s California-weird hair and he has to frown to compensate for his red face. Greg just smiles wider, all white teeth and pink lips. “Welcome to DNA/Trace. Stay as long as you like.”

The kid had eyes so warm and melting sometimes it was like being back outside in the middle of the day and Nick stays where he is, with a table full of samples between them, and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You…uh…got my results on that assault in Seven Hills yet?”

“Straight to business, I see,” Sanders sighs dramatically enough to make his shoulders droop, then gives Nick a look that’s distinctly annoyed before turning on his heel and pointing to a stack of papers and the piles of evidence bags.

“Unfortunately for you, I’ve got two homicides that take precedence, but you’re next on my list I swear…” Sanders makes the promise with another sigh, and somehow Nick knows he’s not the first person Sanders has said that to today, which just adds to the pissed-off, twisted feeling in his gut, already there because of this case. Because once again he hasn’t been given a homicide, which isn’t the kid’s fault, just like it’s not his fault that Nick’s case isn’t as important as anyone else’s, but he can’t help uncrossing his arms and pushing against the table.

“So you don’t have _anything_ for me? Anything at all?” he demands, then winces a little to hear himself. Sanders just blinks, and carefully sets down the mug before facing him again.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that…” he trails off and Nick’s gaze flies to his face automatically before he breathes out and sees Sanders holding up a printout. _That_ is work. What _isn’t_ work is the way Sanders' eyebrows are waggling suggestively.

Now even his ears are burning. Great.

He snatches the report with a glare and then focuses on it for a moment. “The guy had motor oil and _chalk_ on his hands?” Just trying to narrow down where and how someone would come into contact with both of things could take days—but it could also crack the case. The twisted feeling eases a bit and Nick raises his head just in time to see Greg’s smug grin turn into a yawn.

“Just a preliminary report. I’ll look at both substances more closely later.”

“Thanks, man.” He’d been complaining and he knew it, but he really hadn’t expected anything coming in here. He’d just been frustrated and looking for a break. Waving a hand doesn’t seem like a good enough way to apologize, so Nick rubs at his neck for a second and then nods. “Uh…sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just that good.” The kid, Sanders, winks at him and then yawns again before Nick can try to think of how to respond to that with something other than a red face.

“You…uh…all right?” he finally asks and Sanders perks up at his show of interest. He leans back again in a way that has to be deliberate, because now his shirt is coming out of his pants enough to bare a hint of stomach.

“Clubbing.” Like the word means everything, Sanders smiles, slow and hot and knowing. “I’m exhausted in all the right ways, you know how it is.” The kid’s voice is cocky, and Nick knows he got laid, that he was out all night and he got _laid_ , that someone slid inside that body, or that Greg did the riding, and even while he’s picturing more bared skin and those pink lips open and gasping, he’s wondering why Sanders would want him to know that, especially since Nick had spent his free time yesterday watching the big game on TV.

Nick’s never really been one for locker room talk, which is probably why he lifts his chin and steps back. The hot look disappears from Sanders’ eyes instantly and Nick shivers.

“No. No, man, I don’t.” He breathes out heavily and feels the paper crumpling in his grip. Sanders stands up, his hands knocking against his mug, which is full after all because it spills this time. It makes a little puddle on the otherwise spotless table.

“I thought you were… I mean…looking like…” Greg starts, looking up and down him again, then away, and Nick shrugs to cut him off.

“Look, whatever you do on your own time…” he says a second later, his voice almost calm even when he can guess what Sanders does in his spare time, even when he wonders what small line between Sanders’ brown eyes means when the other man looks back at him. “Just some of us are looking for something more than that. Something lasting.” Hearing himself makes Nick’s skin feel tight all over and leaves his stomach unsettled and nervous. Imagining what someone like Greg Sanders thinks of his admittedly old-fashioned and kind of pathetic romantic dreams makes him so twitchy he takes a step and knocks against a chair.

Greg’s mouth falls open at that, just a little, and Nick makes himself shrug again and turns around to go, determined to ignore the icy feeling in his stomach.

“Anyway, thanks,” he calls out, waving the paper around. “I’ll come back in that hour,” he adds, to soften it, but Sanders is still frowning after him.

~~~

 

“And what can I do for my two favorite crime scene investigators today?” Greg puts down the journal he’d been flipping through and bounces out of his chair so quickly the seat spins. It was a forensics journals; Nick knows because he has the same one at home on his nightstand, but it’s strange to see when he’d been expecting to catch Greg with his porn.

Greg’s motion stops abruptly at a table, in the same way that he’s suddenly nonchalant and cool again, as though he didn’t just almost fall over himself to get to his feet as they’d walked in.

His shirt today is simple, pale blue with gold pinstripes, but his wide collar is flared out and his hair looks different, a soft-looking arrangement of brown and blond. He looks at each of them expectantly and Nick turns to Sara before he has to read the invitation in Greg’s lit up eyes, that always says something insane and intriguing, like ‘Come and get me, Nick’ or ‘Please, Nick, save me’. Because the only thing Greg wants to be saved from is boredom, which usually just means more teasing for Nick to endure.

“I bet you say that to all the CSIs.” Sara’s mouth curves up and Greg barely even pauses though Nick can feel the glance in his direction.

“Well, not Grissom,” Greg admits and Nick looks over at him in time to see the Greg’s eyes travel appreciatively up and down Sara’s body. “But I mean it for you guys.”

“Right.” Nick drawls loudly and Greg’s eyes go wide. He slides back up into a standing position and angles a shoulder in Nick’s direction without looking directly at him while his hands smooth over his workspace. Nick gets a glimpse of eyelashes that’s so coy Scarlett O’Hara wouldn’t even have tried it. He looks down quickly but feels his cheeks grow warm anyway.

Everything in Greg’s lab is in it’s proper place and sparkling clean. Crime hasn’t exactly slowed down, but Greg runs his lab so well that he’s obviously gotten used to the routine. But then, Greg’s made it more than clear that he’s a guy who needs a lot of excitement; always taking the time to talk about his hobbies—and his after-hours activities—shoving his conquests in Nick’s face as though he loves to see him blush.

Like last month and that case with that Lady Heather, talking about _switches_ with Grissom, knowing that the whole lab would now suspect that Greg knew a lot more about all that bondage…stuff, and then teasing Nick about latex, reminding him once again that Greg is up for anything—with anyone—and compared to him Nick was an inexperienced old fuddy-duddy. He was the kind of guy who would even use the phrase “fuddy-duddy”.

After a moment when Nick doesn’t say anything, Greg turns his gorgeous eyes back on Sara, with an exaggerated sigh and a definite challenge in his tone. “I’ll give you ten guesses as to how many different DNA samples I found on your pair of handcuffs.”

“There were more than one?” Sara asks immediately, overriding Nick’s soft protest.

“The _suspect’s_ handcuffs…” He can hear himself, sounding like an idiot too, because something like cuffs probably means nothing to Greg. That’s probably a mild night for him, and while it’s only too easy to imagine Greg in handcuffs, naked and struggling _just_ enough, Nick doesn’t see what’s wrong with two people just making love either, together just as God intended. He still doesn’t see any point in wanting anything else, even if he had looked for it in the wrong place with Kristy. His parents had found it, and even in Las Vegas Nick tries to hold out hope that he will find someone who wants to share his life; with or without handcuffs.

Greg’s eyes fix on him and Nick presses his lips together and tries to focus around the images of Greg restrained on his bed, of Greg cuffed to his workstation, sucking him off. It’s hard when Greg’s eyes are telling him that he wouldn’t mind either option. But only because he’s bored, Nick reminds himself, and then he’d get just as bored with Nick and Nick knows for a fact he can’t do the casual sex thing.

So he tears his attention away and looks for clues.

“Two?” Sara guesses, impatient but playing along. Greg just puts on a disappointed face. “Three?” she tries again and Greg shakes his head and cracks a grin. His eyes flare up and Nick steps forward, knowing that three wouldn’t have Greg nearly this excited. He doesn’t know why Sara can’t see it, doesn’t know that about Greg. Nick figured that one out early one, after the first few rounds of Name That Chemical Compound.

He leans against one counter and clears his throat. Greg’s burning like a Fourth of July sparkler, hot and bright in his cool, clean lab.

“Five,” Nick answers and Sara’s mouth falls open when Greg lets out a laugh.

“I knew you had a dirty mind under that pretty face. Must be all the nature shows.” Greg manages and Nick uncrosses his arms to tug at his shirt. His blush is spreading to his neck. Sara is just glaring between them.

“What’s so funny?”

“Greg thinks he is,” Nick answers darkly and Greg ends his laughing fit but keeps a smirk on his face, the one he wears whenever he beats Nick when they’re playing Madden on Greg’s Xbox. It’s so smartass that Nick can usually only think about kissing it off his face. Luckily Greg sucks at even virtual football and Nick doesn’t have to fight off the urge that often.

“No, Nick’s right.” Greg swings away from Nick to nod at Sara and Nick breathes out. “I swabbed and ran five different contributions. You guys are going to have to fill me in on this case later…” he adds, almost wistfully, and Nick recalls Catherine and Grissom talking about Greg wanting out of the lab.

“Five?” Sara says again, ignoring that last part, because they had only found evidence of two people at the scene.

“Epithelials from your vic, so he was mostly likely the lucky one wearing them. So really, four unknown contributors, but yeah, five. Total.” Greg’s eyebrows jerk up right as Nick realizes he’s staring. “Some party.”

“Four?” Sara scowls and snatches the printouts in Greg’s hand when he offers them to her, without seeming to notice the “lucky one” comment. Nick might have told her to never doubt Greg’s results, but then Greg shrugs and licks his lips until they’re wet and gleaming and he’s back to considering Nick.

Nick can only wonder what his face looks like, what Greg sees. He can guess though, because “lucky one” is all he can think about it until Greg speaks again.

“Things can get…messy.”

Thinking of just how Greg knows that Nick’s eyebrows snap together.

“Thanks, Greg.” Sara is already distracted and heading out the door. They were going to have to search the motel again for the guests who had apparently left the party early. But Nick stays where is, staring hard at Greg.

“Yes?” Greg seems out of breath and Nick can feel a tightness in his chest too. Greg’s wrists are thin, but muscled. His skin is mostly tan and he’d look good held down by a bit of steel, excited, _aroused_ at the idea of some stranger touching him.

“A party, huh?” Nick’s voice is rough and Greg’s eyelids drop for a moment. It makes Nick want to kiss the eyelashes brushing against his cheekbones and he clenches his jaw until that urge passes too.

Greg looks up, taunting and pretty and probably knowing exactly the effect he has on people. On Nick.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never used yours for recreation,” he remarks, his voice too loud, and his up and down glance says that he has, and that he’s willing to show Nick exactly how.

It’s the look that lets Nick lower his gaze. It’s too close to the look Greg just gave Sara and Nick doesn’t want to see it. He’s shaking his head and stepping backward and breathing too hard at such a simple question.

He glances up a moment or two later to see Greg frowning delicately, blinking in confusion as Nick retreats.

“Thanks, Greg, but I’ve got suspects to chase down. I’ll leave you to your _fun_.”

 

~~~~

 

“I don’t think this was how this guy thought his night was going to end.” Greg stands aside and watches Dave wheel out the last body and Nick stands aside and watches Greg, but Greg looks…okay…if not happy, being around this much death.

Out of the lab, without his white coat, Greg seems smaller, or maybe that’s just the world around him growing bigger, or the new way he’s styled his hair in some attempt to look less like the guy he was before. His elaborate plumage is shorter now, smoothed over his forehead but still defiant and golden over the crown of his head.

His new vest only adds to Nick’s vague impression of him as smaller, thinner, though he as always still has an inch or two on Nick, which makes the idea seem even more ridiculous whenever Nick tries to analyze the feeling. His clothes were still the old Greg; a short-sleeved black shirt with glittering letters that said, “Ooh La La” that Nick had seen in the locker room earlier. The blazing evening sun streaming through the bedroom windows lights up the fine hairs on Greg’s bare arms, highlighting the muscle that Nick still finds surprising even after years of knowing Greg.

The sun also finds the faint pink shine of burn scars at the back of Greg’s neck, but Nick turns before Greg can catch him looking at those and he snaps another picture of the bed.

Rumpled sheets, used condoms, and a sprinkling of blood marking a void where a knife had been before Catherine had bagged it. On the nightstand were more condoms still in the box and two glasses of champagne. The other glass is on the floor by the bed, knocked over. Nick takes a picture of that too, though the murder weapon seems obvious.

“Well, he had some fun, before things went sour.” Catherine surveys the bed with a tiny smirk and then shakes her head. “We are going to need a chain of events here while Sara and Dave ID our bodies for us. Only the homeowner is confirmed.”

The homeowner had been the one at the bottom of the sandwich of naked corpses. Nick coughs at the memory of shocked, frozen faces that just reminded him of how nowhere seemed safe anymore, even places that should be, like being with a lover. But maybe those places are just the most dangerous.

“I’m going to take a look at the kitchen and the rest of the house, in case the…evening…started out there.” Catherine finally takes her eyes off the empty bed and Nick nods, getting a shot of the bag of pills shoved under a sheet.

“Pictures, then bag everything and send it to…well, give it to Greg when you’re done,” she adds, shooting a grin at Greg and ignoring Nick’s grimace at being told how to do his job. It’s for Greg’s benefit because he’s out in the field to learn, so Nick keeps quiet until she’s gone.

“Why don’t you collect the champagne and the glasses?”

At the sound of his voice, Greg twitches; he’d been staring at the bed too. But he grabs his kit and kneels down next to the glass on the floor. He bends his head down and Nick’s finger flicks over the camera, snapping a picture of Greg with the sun in his hair, alive and bursting with fire, his skin soft, but not smooth anymore, not there.

“A weird way to die.” He moves away when Greg looks up at the sound and talks because Greg’s not talking much, not as much as before, but Nick usually explains it away as Greg trying not to mess up his chance. He knows Greg’s worked hard to prove himself, and knows exactly how much it burns not to be taken seriously.

Greg’s eyes focus on him and Nick half-expects him to say that there aren’t any ways to die that aren’t weird, that no place is safe, but Nick flinches at the memory of the lab after the explosion and Greg gives a short laugh.

“He was probably happy at least. A threesome is most guys’ ultimate fantasy.” Nick manufactures a grin and throws it Greg’s way, happy to see him smiling. He almost opens his mouth to point out that to most guys that meant two girls and one guy and not the other way around, but Greg just goes on.

“At least he got what he wanted, before he died.” Nick’s not sure of what’s in Greg’s voice, or why Greg’s grin slips away. It drops at the same time as Greg’s stare, and Greg keeps his head bowed like he’s memorizing the champagne flute in front of him.

It’s hot in the vic’s bedroom. Closed up windows with the Vegas sun shining through. Last night would have been cooler, night air hitting their skin as the three victims had undressed, gotten tipsy, and proceeded to use up six condoms before dawn—the estimated T.O.D.

Had the homeowner known his bed partners, or were they strangers? Neither option suddenly seems right, considering how it ended, and Nick imagines jealousy, neglect, competition, ugly things that had no place in the bedroom.

“Guess the fantasy didn’t live up to the hype,” he says at last, to say something, and Greg stand up with glass number one collected. He walks around Nick to the nightstand and reaches for a jar for the champagne without looking up and Nick realizes he’s standing still, watching Greg work. He seems steady, better than he’s been in a long time.

“It never does.” Greg pours out the champagne then looks up and Nick realizes that he hasn’t moved, that he’s still watching Greg and there’s no way he can really pretend otherwise.

“What do you mean?” He responds without thinking, knowing his mouth is open before he knows what he’s asking, but Greg flushes with the heat of the room and looks back down at his work. That’s an answer right there, an answer that doesn’t need anything else, not when Nick’s already on fire and sick, but Greg coughs once or twice and speaks anyway.

“Well you think it’s going to be the hottest experience in your life, but then it’s just too many hands to keep track of, and no one really seems to just be into _you_ , and it’s _good_ , but it’s not _great_ or anything, and at the end you wind up feeling a little ignored, because no matter how pushy you get you’re still not getting what you really want…” Greg freezes for a moment and then jerks his shoulders up. “Or maybe that’s just me, because other people seem to get what they need out of it, obviously.”

Greg scribbles something on the jar and sets it aside before he looks over again with his eyebrow raised. Dimly, Nick is aware that the gesture is telling, that it’s strange to see Greg so nervous about something like this. Greg’s always been experienced, and Nick has always known that, because of course other people would be attracted to someone as amazing as he is, because the curiosity and courage that led Greg out of the lab are the same qualities that would lead him to try everything outside of work too.

Nick swallows and lets his eyes dip down to the blood-and-semen-stained sheets, lets them fly back up to Greg who is breathing quickly in and out, to his neck and the scars that Nick can’t see right now.

“Maybe that’s why some of us are fine with one-on-one, Greggo,” he manages, his voice high and tight and Greg pushes out a shaky breath.

“One-on-one is good too,” Greg agrees quietly and Nick tries to imagine Greg being happy with only one person beside him. It’s not the first time he’s tried, but even when he does he can’t picture that person being anyone as boring as Greg knows Nick is. No clubbing, no threesomes, just Nick at home, reading, watching the game, going hiking sometimes.

“But even that can hurt you,” Greg adds after a moment, his voice even lower, and bites down hard.

Nick puts the camera to his face to snap more pictures of the bed, and the threesome gone horribly wrong.

“Just be careful,” he whispers, his rough voice barely audible over the click of the camera. He only looks up when he has to.

Greg is glaring at the glass of flat champagne in his hand.

 

~~~~

 

“I can’t believe everybody came out together.” Nick doesn’t turn around when Greg breathes into his ear, but the feel Greg’s breath on his skin makes him shiver in a way that only the heat of Greg’s hand on his back can stop, completely opposite of what the blonde who had approached him a second ago had felt like. “This is the best night ever. I love you guys.”

That, slurred against his neck, does make Nick look up, but when he moves Greg pulls away.

It’s probably just so Nick can turn on his barstool, but it still deepens the frown he already has from the noise in the bar. The music, the crowd, the smoke, have all been driving him crazy for the past two hours, and if it weren’t for the special occasion, he’d have gone home, disappeared the way Grissom and Sara already have. As it was, he’d removed his contacts in the bathroom and put on his glasses, feeling impossibly old the whole time.

Greg is flushed and damp with sweat, his flat, wavy hair starting to frizz out with the wet heat of the dance floor. He still has on his clothes from work, but he’d unbuttoned his shirt earlier, and the t-shirt underneath is soaked and skin-tight.

“It’s not everyday you pass your Proficiency,” Nick has to shout to be heard, unless he leans in to talk like Greg does, and his eyes drop to Greg’s neck, his ear, before he slides them back to Greg’s incredibly pleased grin.

He knows he’s smiling back even without the buzz of two beers and a glass of champagne in his bloodstream and the heat of Greg’s look making him blush. “Thank Cath,” he yells after clearing his throat, since Catherine had been the one to do all the work to get them all the same time off, and glances around only to see Catherine still out on the dance floor. She’s dancing to the loud, crazy music as though she doesn’t mind it. Rick’s probably out there too.

“They’ve been dancing forever,” Greg whines, shaking his head and leaning in closer. “Don’t they get tired? I’ve been up for thirty hours.” Greg ducks his head down and looks up in that way Nick loves, and as he watches Greg’s eyes grow bright, like he knows that.

“You get used to it.” Nick doesn’t really try to hide his grin.

“Well I want to go to bed,” Greg answers immediately, then sways a little to the music. “You’re not dancing,” he complains a second later and narrows his eyes. “Not even when she…when you got asked.” The question in Greg’s expression makes Nick burn, but then Greg sways again and grins as the music changes. “But you’re still here. I love you guys,” Greg says again, to finish, and Nick feels his grin get even wider.

“How many have you had, Sherlock?”

“That’s CSI Level One Sanders to you, Stokes.” Greg scowls at him for the barest moment and then holds up one hand and one finger. From which Nick guesses Greg has had _six_ of something, likely not including the champagne earlier.

“You know we’re…” Nick coughs. “ _I’m_ real proud of you, Greg. I knew you could do it.” He can’t help but beam at the remembered look of shock on Greg’s face, replacing the disappointment and fear that had left Nick all knotted up inside. The way Greg had worked, tried so hard, he’d _had_ to succeed, even if the odds had been against him.

Betting against him hadn’t been right, but it hadn’t been against Greg so much as that girl Chandra. He hadn’t liked her, hadn’t liked walking into DNA and seeing her there. She…she’d just kept the lab too hot.

“I won’t get to see you anymore.” The crowd almost eats up Greg’s words, but Nick catches them and looks down, at his beer, at the bar, then works a smile.

“I’ll be around. And I’m sure you’ll make all sorts of new friends.” Friends more Greg’s type, like the group he’d left on the dance floor to come over to Nick. Some lab techs, some of the people from Days, and a few that Greg seems to have picked up just being Greg. In between trips to the bar and the bathroom and stopping to talk to Nick, Greg had all over the place, dancing.

Jumping and down really, bouncing, grinding against Wendy, Henry, and some guy in a leather jacket, letting Wendy, Henry, and some guy in a leather jacket grind against him, laughing the whole time.

With his contacts out, there’s no reason Nick’s eyes should still be burning.

“Sure, but…” Greg stops and makes a face. “You haven’t even danced,” he argues again and twists his head to stare behind him.

Nick’s shuddering just thinking about that much attention on him, that many bodies so close, the heat and the music, being pressed tight to Greg like that, his arms empty as Greg slides away. No he’d rather sit here and watch Greg enjoy himself.

“You go on and have fun, Greggo,” he says once he stands up, and maybe Greg is drunker than he thought, because he almost falls back and Nick has to put his hands out to catch him.

“Steady now, G,” he breathes out, then sucks in another breath when Greg leans against him, hot strength and loose arms, his lips warm and wet on his neck.

“Nick,” he murmurs into Nick’s ear and his hand splays out over Nick’s chest. “I want to watch Animal Planet with you.”

“You are drunk, my friend.” Nick can hardly hear himself, can barely stand with his legs shaking and his body so close to Greg’s, dizzy with images of Greg in his bed, Greg curled up next to him as he flips channels. “Maybe I should take you home.”

“ _At last_ ,” Greg whispers, too quiet for Greg, for a place like this, sweet and low, and Nick shivers all over again, hot at the answering tremor in Greg’s body, unmistakable.

He steps back, pushes back until he hits his barstool and sits and looks up into eyes that have always been able to leave his pulse racing.

“You’re drunk.” Nick can hear himself even if he wishes he can’t, and tosses his head at Greg’s frown, at how Greg shakes his head too.

“You don’t understand,” Greg tells him seriously, but his hand leaves Nick’s chest; there’s a damp, warm impression there, like Greg’s eyes, wide and melting.

“No, I understand, G.” Nick’s voice is gentler than it ought to be, because Greg deserves a good time. It’s just that Nick is not a one night kind of guy, even if he wishes he was, just once. “But what you’re looking for is over there.”

He glances at the crowd of dancers but Greg’s gaze stays on his face.

“You want me to go back?” Greg asks, his voice rasping, and the song switches to something earsplitting and awful. Nick knows he’s flinching, but Greg doesn’t even blink.

His hands move, and only then does Nick realize that he still has his arms around Greg, his hands on his hips. He slides them away and feels a sharp ache behind his eyes.

“I want you to have fun,” he says without looking up. He can’t, not when he’s picturing Greg held by someone else, some stranger seeing Greg’s face as he comes. He can feel Greg staring hard at him, but after a moment he backs up and vanishes into the press of dancers. He’ll probably be there for the rest of the night, but Nick can still see Greg frowning as he gets up and stumbles his way outside into the fresh air.

 

~~~

 

“Nick?”

Nick looks up from tying his shoe and stops when he sees Greg in the doorway of the locker room. Greg is still, studying Nick for a moment before he steps smoothly into the room with him.

Greg looks good, back to his gravity-defying hair, though the darker shade makes him seem older, his skin paler from too many night shifts. He has on a protective jumpsuit with a few stains on it but when he reaches his locker he pulls down the zipper to reveal a thin, white undershirt. He looks over as he does and Nick looks back down at his shoes.

“Hey, Greggo.” His smile is real when he finishes and raises his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” Months actually with just a glimpse of Greg, hearing stories through Sara. Months since Greg had become a Level One and Nick could only suppose that Greg’s working hard to become a Level Two.

“Been working,” Greg answers with his face to his locker. “Making new friends,” he tosses out a second later and pulls out a stick of deodorant and uses it without turning, so he doesn’t see Nick jerk his head up and stare at him, doesn’t seem to care when he shirt rides up and Nick’s eyes drop instantly to stare at the hint of Greg’s skin.

Nick swallows to ease his tight throat.

“You look good.” Out loud like that makes him duck his head, but Greg shoots him a look anyway, at last, then immediately turns back around to yank off the jumpsuit; he has to pull hard to get it off his sneakers. He should have taken them off first, and the clumsy action makes Nick frown. He’s hinted to Sara, but no one else seems to think Greg is working too hard.

“Listen,” he tries again, and Greg actually pauses. Nick straightens up and draws in a deep breath. “I covered a shift, which is why I’m off now, same as graveyard, and…”

“Sanders!” Warrick’s greeting is warm but startling. Nick flinches as Greg straightens and turns and lets Nick see the wide smile come and go on his face as Warrick steps into the room to shake his head and slap his back.

“What are you doing here?” Greg’s question is directed at Warrick, again, and Nick sits up, frowning.

“Just _finally_ finished the last of the paperwork on the Bruce Eiger case, and I heard a rumor about breakfast with the old team…”

“Rumor…?” For the first time in what felt like hours, Greg looks at Nick and for a second Nick imagines that the light in there is for him. He feels himself getting warm, an effect of Greg’s presence that even months apart hasn’t seemed to stop.

“Maybe I invited everybody out…It just seemed like it was time we all got together, outside of a case. The last time…”

“Too long ago,” Warrick finishes for him, shaking his head. Nick swallows and waits, but Greg flicks his eyes back to Warrick and doesn’t even make a twitch in his direction. Not for the first time, Nick finds himself staring anyway, searching for a warm glance that isn’t there.

He’d supposed Greg probably hadn’t been as bothered by what happened—by what hadn’t happened—the night he’d passed his Proficiency, or at least not as bothered as Nick had been. That was—is—stupid, to think that Greg hated him now, had been avoiding him.

“It’s just…I miss everyone.” Nick’s skin bursts into flame at his sudden embarrassing words, hot all the way to his toes at his declaration but Warrick just seems amused and doesn’t look at all like he thinks Nick has lost his mind. But Warrick doesn’t know that Nick had finished straightening up a long time ago, that he had just been sitting in here, pretending to tie his shoes, waiting for Greg to walk in the door.

He feels stupid. And the last thing he wants now was breakfast.

Warrick moves before he can though, slapping Greg’s back again and heading toward the door.

“Heard you’ve been behaving yourself,” Warrick offers.

“Yeah, well, it’s easier than you’d think.” Greg’s mouth tightens and he reaches into his locker for another shirt. His fingers grip the fabric too hard for a moment and his eyelashes rest against his cheek when he closes his eyes. A second later they’re open again. “Not that I don’t still like to have my _fun_ ,” he bites out softly, driving something sharp and jagged into Nick’s chest. Nick closes his eyes too at the images that instantly spring to mind. He opens them and refocuses on Greg’s tall, fit, safe body, his hair, his clothes.

His shirt is purple, collared and long-sleeved, but he leaves it unbuttoned and loose over his thin, white tee. He looks warm and beautiful and Nick’s fingers curl into his palms.

“Getting old, huh?” Nick frowns at Warrick’s joke, and moves to stand up, but Greg has his back to him while he looks into his locker mirror and combs his hair. “Too jaded for this job now, Sanders?”

“But people can still surprise you…” Nick pushes himself back into the conversation, his voice high and they both look at him. “I mean…Bruce Eiger in diapers…” He can talk again but he’s not even sure what he’s saying, anything to get Greg’s attention back on him, even if it means bringing up a case. He stands up and cracks a smile.

“You don’t know where I’ve been for that case…with Grissom the whole time trying to tell me it wasn’t abnormal.”

“Grown man crawling around in dirty diapers...” Warrick’s disgusted tone makes Nick crack another smile, a real one, and Nick turns, knowing that Greg always loves the kinkier cases; this at least should bring a smile to his face.

Instead the sound of Greg slamming his locker echoes through the room.

“Maybe the guy was lonely.” Greg’s voice raises just enough to make Nick blink. “Maybe he only wanted what most people want—someone to stay with him. The sad part is that he was so unlovable that he had to blackmail someone into doing it.”

“Staying with him?” Nick repeats, feeling dumb because that’s the kind of thing that Grissom might say.

“The guy had everything, everything other people thought he should want, but not what _he_ really wanted.” Greg’s hands shake as he finger-combs his hair up, and his eyes are heavy and dark on Nick. He drops them a moment later and slips past Warrick and well around Nick.

“Sanders, you coming to breakfast?” It’s Warrick who asks and Greg stops for him. Nick may have been wishing for Greg to look at him again for months now, but he shivers when Greg fixes him again with his disappointed, angry glare. But he can’t look away, can’t even breathe.

“Thanks, but I’ve got to get home, get some sleep. But you guys go have fun.”

Greg throws the words over his shoulder as he retreats, and Nick sits slowly back down, frowning.

 

~~~~

 

“Do you need anything? Another beer?”

Halo is on pause, has been for a few minutes while Nick uses the restroom and walks back out into the living room. Greg’s apartment isn’t that big, but Nick’s moving slow, studying the pictures on the wall, the poster for an old film called, “Murder, My Sweet.”

Inside the living room there are more pictures, books and DVDs, a large screen TV and a nice, comfortable couch that Nick eases down into without answering. He notices the toppling pile of CDs on the floor by Greg’s laptop, next to notes for the project Greg’s working on. The whole place is cool and Nick leans back.

“Nick?” Greg pops out of his kitchen, wide-eyed, but stops when he sees Nick. Greg shuts his mouth and for a minute they both stare at each other, while Nick reads all the questions that Greg’s not asking in Greg’s eyes. “I…” Greg speaks first. “I’m glad you came.” He stops again, coughs. “I was wondering if you wanted another beer.”

“No. No I’m good, Greggo.” It’s the truth, mostly. There’s an icy touch along his spine once in a while, an unsettled, anxious flutter in his stomach that’s been there since Greg called, but mostly he’s cool and comfortable and warm inside from the one beer he did have. Greg is still peering at him and Nick feels almost…relaxed…for the first time in two months.

“Should you be drinking?” Greg comes further into the room but not all the way to the couch. “I didn’t ask. I probably should have. I mean, I know when I was out…they said…” Greg’s talking more now than he has since Nick arrived, more than he has to Nick in weeks.

The grin just spreads right over his face even though there _is_ a bottle of pills in his pocket—to be taken only if the feeling of panic returns. So far it hasn’t, and Nick intends on keeping it that way.

“I’m fine, G.”

“Oh.” Cut short, Greg trails a hand through his hair. It’s flat again, but wavy and damp, making Nick wonder if the wave was natural, if Greg’s hair was freshly-washed. The idea wipes the smile off his face and he turns back to the TV.

“We going or what?”

“Big talk from the guy about to go down.” Greg moves without making a joke about “going down” the way he would have a long time ago and plops down next to Nick. The controllers are still on the table, next to the beer bottles. Greg puts his hands over his knees and sits there, breathing hard. It’s warmer, being this close to him, as warm as Nick remembers, grateful for the cooler air.

From the side Nick can see that he’s frowning, that his color his high, his skin rosy around his old, faded CBGB’s shirt. He exhales, one long, worried breath, then finally reaches for his controller.

“This…uh…” Nick has to clear his throat, but Greg pauses. “This is really nice, Greg, thanks.” He couldn’t have stayed in his house much longer, bored out of his mind, counting down the hours until his next session, until he was allowed back to work.

“What do you mean?” Greg looks like he’s the one who needs medication. He half-turns and then turns back to stare at the screen, and Nick feels himself starting to talk too much.

“I mean, inviting me over here for this knowing I was going out of my mind at my place. When you called… Well…giving up your Friday night off…just…thanks, man.” He grows silent when Greg faces him again, blinks.

“What else would I be doing?” Greg’s voice is level, but like always it’s his eyes doing a lot more talking than his mouth. Nick licks his lips and glances down.

“Well, I know I’m not very exciting,” especially now, when almost anything has him looking over his shoulder, “And there’s likely a thousand things you could be out doing that’d be more fu…more interesting.” Greg’s still not speaking, so Nick darts another look up. Damn his mouth is dry. “Didn’t you want to go out?”

“Because that’s all I do?” Greg’s short laugh makes Nick jerk his eyes up and keep them up. It’s mean and bitter and not Greg at all, but before Nick can argue Greg sighs and waves his hand and looks away. “Maybe I did—when I was younger—and it was fun. Maybe I still go out sometimes. But other things are more important to me now, things I want and I’d rather do and…and haven’t we had enough excitement, Nick?” Greg is shaking, sounding tired. “Just…never mind. Forget it.” Greg is still trembling, his words rough with disappointment and fear, but he reaches for the controller with unsteady fingers. “Shit,” he swears softly and closes his eyes.

His hands fiddle with the piece of plastic and Nick sees the cord move but jumps anyway at the touch against his skin, crawling in the hair on his arm. Greg jumps too, looking down at Nick’s surprisingly unmarked arm, terrified in a way Greg should never be.

“Nick,” is all Greg manages and then his mouth is open under Nick’s, and Nick knows he needs to tear away to breathe, but can’t, he can’t even try. Greg is melting and stronger than everyone ever thinks he is and everything Nick has ever wanted. It’s Greg who groans against his mouth, hungry and inviting, like always, and it’s Greg who pushes up demandingly against him when he ends up on his back, Nick heavy all over him.

Touching Greg makes his skin burn, makes his insides burst with life the way they do every time Greg is around, even waking up in a hospital bed with just a glimpse of Greg pacing and restless in the hall outside.

Greg’s hands feel like Greg like is burning too as they yank at his clothes, as they stroke over his back, and then Greg is gasping, his pink lips moving when Nick pulls away at last to kiss over his eyes and his cheeks. “Nick…you almost…you could have…” He doesn’t finish, not that, but his mouth presses over the pulse in his neck, and his fingers curl around his arms until Nick opens his eyes and looks up and sees a light in eyes that are more than just brown.

“Please, Nick.” Greg demands with his fingers, his eyes begging Nick to come save him, and somehow they’re off the couch, stumbling, fumbling down the hall, Greg’s arms loose and heavy around him, Nick’s hands grasping Greg’s hips.

He bends down when he has Greg pinned to the wall, and Greg’s stomach is flat and smooth. He presses his mouth there once, then again when Greg falls back through an opened door into his bedroom, leading him on through the mess of shoes and CDs on the floor to the perfectly-made bed. His tongue’s in Greg’s belly button before Greg’s all the way on the bed, but he’s apologizing into Greg’s skin as Greg’s hands slide to his hair and hold tight.

“Sorry, G. I’m so sorry.” He can hear himself and he ought to embarrassed, but Nick’s blinking and dizzy to realize that Greg answers with his name, just his name and no one else’s, over and over when he buries his face against Greg’s hip, when he puts his mouth on Greg’s dick and presses Greg to the bed and he sucks him until Greg’s voice is harsh and loud and Nick’s swallowing.

He’s up while Greg still gasping, staring down into the blinking, dazed eyes staring right back up at him, and there are years between them that makes him move before Greg can catch his breath. He pulls away the T-shirt and runs his hands over Greg’s ribs, out to his arms. He finds Greg’s wrists, strong and muscled, but he holds them, restraining them high above Greg’s head.

He’s not sure when he got naked, maybe in the hallway, and he’s not sure when Greg lost his jeans, but their bodies are wet and hot and locked tight together. Greg arches into him, sticky and teasing, struggling just enough to feel how much he’s driving Nick crazy, his eyes saying that he loves it, that he knows what Nick wants, that he can have it.

There’s a nightstand and in the drawer condoms, lube, toys, porn…Greg’s things...but Nick only reaches for the first two and Greg only grins and gasps before he bends his knees and spreads his legs, the same invitation on his face that’s always been there.

He closes his eyes as Nick slides in, says his name again, excited, eager, and Nick can only say “Greg” back to him, has only been able to say that for years now, and when he can’t his mouth is still open, pressing kisses to whatever skin he can reach. It’s so good it hurts, listening to his racing heart in his ears, Greg’s quiet moans as he grows hard again, but he keeps his eyes open as he thrusts, sticky and shaking and exhausted and waiting to see, coming hard when he sees Greg’s expression break apart, falling into Greg’s heat.

He opens his eyes at the whisper of cool air on his hot, damp skin, listening carefully to the sound of their breathing. He’s on his back on Greg’s bed, still pressed close to Greg, and the pillow under his cheek smells like fresh-scented detergent. Greg’s hair tickles his nose as Greg rolls over, and Nick holds still, keeping his breath inside until his chest is aching, but Greg only turns to face him.

With his eyes closed, he slides his mouth over Nick’s throat and then settles back on his pillow. Nick lets out a breath and moves his arm over, letting his fingers rest carefully over the skin of Greg’s hip. His skin is slick, and Nick wants to kiss him in return, something fluttering in his stomach when he considers it, wondering if he should, if Greg expects him to leave now.

Greg seems almost dead weight on his side of the bed, breathing hard, his eyes shut, and Nick stares at him, at his hand as it travels up to touch the waves of Greg’s hair.

Greg’s eyes open at last and he pushes out a breath.

“Wow, Stokes,” he remarks, his lips curving up, and Nick glances down, fully expecting the blush that that comment brings to his face. He coughs a second later and keeps his eyes away as he pulls his hand from Greg’s body. He shifts, moving to get off the bed, and Greg frowns sleepily at him.

“Don’t go,” he orders and Nick’s face really does heat this time, which is amazing after everything, and maybe Greg knows that, because he’s laughing softly for real now.

“Didn’t really want to,” Nick confesses, clearing his throat, and Greg scoots over, putting his mouth back at his throat, then tossing a leg over one of Nick’s for good measure. Greg is heavy with exhaustion and from his pleased sigh and the triumphant smirk Nick had last seen on his face, he obviously has no intention of moving anytime soon.

“Then stay as long as you like,” he offers softly, and Nick angles his head up until Greg has to stop kissing his neck. When their eyes meet, Greg’s light up, wide and welcoming.

He’s smiling.

The End


End file.
